Handmaiden
by autumnrose2010
Summary: The Dowager Empress resorts to drastic measures to secure a healthy male heir for the Russian throne. A bit darker than my other stories.
1. The Proposition

_Now Sarai Abram's wife bore him no children: and she had an handmaid, an Egyptian, whose name was Hagar. And Sarai said until Abram, Behold now, the Lord hath restrained me from bearing: I pray thee, go in unto my maid, it may be that I may obtain children by her. And Abram hearkened to the voice of Sarai. (Genesis 16: 1-2, King James Version)_

Alexander Palace**  
**Tsarskoe Selo, Russia**  
**1909

As one of the youngest members of the court of Imperial Russia, I know that I owe my position as lady in waiting to Her Imperial Highness Tsarina Alexandra Feodorovna to my mother's close friendship with the Dowager Empress, Maria Feodorovna. I certainly have no special talents or abilities that stand out, nor have I accomplished anything of any particular merit or virtue since arriving at court. Therefore I am genuinely surprised when I am told that the Dowager Empress has requested an audience with me.

"Yelizaveta Ivanovna," she greets me. Please have a seat."

I do as she asks, looking at her expectantly.

"I'll get right to the point," she begins. "Our beloved country has reached a crossroads, a point of crisis, a situation in which the outcome is uncertain. Mother Russia needs your help for her very survival."

"But what can I do?" I ask.

"I have had a great deal of investigation done into your family background," she continues. "There has been no trace of any hereditary diseases on either side of your family. All your brothers, all your uncles, and all your other male relatives are perfectly healthy."

I gasp, shocked. "But what has that to do with..."

"Let me explain." She almost smiles. "You see, my grandson, the Tsarevich, suffers from a grave disease, one which he inherited from his mother the Tsarina. He has hemophilia, which means that his blood does not clot normally. He must be very careful, as even the slightest injury could potentially kill him. My son and his wife are afraid to try for another child, as the idea of another hemophiliac son terrifies them. Yet our country needs a healthy heir, someone fit to rule her in the event of the deaths of both my son and grandson."

As the realization of what she seems to be implying sweeps over me, I feel myself go numb with shock. "But certainly you can't mean..."

"That's exactly what I mean." She is not smiling now.

"But...what about Alexandra?"

"I've discussed my proposition with her, and she's in full agreement with it. It's my son the Tsar who's been resistant. He believes that Alexei's condition is the will of God, that it was visited upon us, upon Russia, as a test of our faith. He also feels that, regardless of the motive, what I suggest would be a violation of the sacred vow he made to Alexandra on the day he wed her. It was Alexandra herself who finally convinced him to go along with the plan, and did so only by pointing out Biblical examples of similar situations such as those of Abraham and Sarah, Jacob and Rachel."

"But Sarah and Rachel were both completely infertile," I remind her. "Her Highness the Tsarina is not. She's borne five children."

"She's borne four daughters and a hemophiliac son," the Dowager Empress emphasizes. "She has not produced a healthy son, and may never do so. Yet the necessity of providing Russia with a healthy heir remains."

"And it's expected of me to provide that heir," I conclude. "By...engaging in marital relations with His Imperial Highness." The words sound so utterly foreign to me that even after having said them, their meaning hasn't quite rung true for me.

"You're under no obligation to accept, of course," the Dowager Empress assures me. "This is only a request, not an order, and if you feel unable to comply, an alternative will be found. Only realize that should you agree, my son the Tsar and I, indeed Russia herself, will be eternally grateful to you."

"But certainly the illegitimate son of a lady in waiting would never be accepted as Tsar," I object.

"The people of Russia shall never know," she replies. "The Tsarina will never appear in public during the latter part of the pregnancy. The public will be told that she is experiencing pregnancy complications and has been ordered to remain on complete bed rest."

"So after the birth, everyone will think that it was she who delivered."

"Precisely."

"And what about the royal children?" Olga, Tatiana, Maria, Anastasia, and Alexei. Five perfect, golden children, living in a fairy tale world of tea parties and dances, far removed from that of ordinary children. A world they could never hope to even visit, much less live in.

"They shall be sent to stay with relatives for a few months. A logical explanation will be given to them, one which they would never question. Upon the child's birth, they will return to the palace."

Indeed she has thought of everything.

"There's no rush," the Dowager Empress continues. "Take as much time as you need to consider my request, but do let me know if you are unable to go through with it, so that another can be found."

She dismisses me, and I am left alone with my thoughts. They twirl around and around in my head, threatening to drive me mad.


	2. My Duty To Mother Russia

I return to my chambers with the Dowager Empress' words weighing heavily on my mind. The idea seems preposterous; a plan born of true desperation. And it requires no small commitment from me.

Will I actually be able to go through with it? Will I be able to bring myself to lie with another woman's husband, to conceive his child, to carry it to term, then to surrender it?

I think of poor, sickly Alexei, how pale and tired he often looks. The fact that after the death of Tsar Nicholas II, the fate of Russia will rest on those frail, slender shoulders. And I know what I must do, what my country demands that I do.

Within days I request an audience with the Dowager Empress and tell her that I have made my decision.

My first encounter with Nicholas doesn't go at all as I expect. Instead of the majestic, larger-than-life persona I expect, before me stands a shortish, very unassuming middle-aged man with kind eyes and a tragic air about him.

He gazes heavenward. "Dear Lord, please forgive me," he says, crossing himself. I do the same.

"Are you going to be all right?" he asks me anxiously.

"Yes, Your Grace," I tell him.

"Are you..." He can't bring himself to ask.

"I am still a maid," I tell him, somewhat nervously.

He nods. It was the answer he expected. "I will be very gentle," he assures me.

The inevitable moment, the one we've both been putting off as long as possible, arrives. Slowly we both disrobe. I am unable to allow my vision to fall anywhere but upon his face. Right away I can see that there is a problem.

"It seems that I...will require assistance," he says awkwardly. Reluctantly I fondle him. The bolt of lightning I expect to instantly strike me dead never comes, and the problem is soon rectified. My slight but nagging fear that he will be unable to perform his part in this scheme is assuaged.

The deed is done. Nicholas, as he promised, is very gentle, but the act is quite painful for me nonetheless. Afterwards I notice that I have bled copiously on the sheet. Nicholas notices as well; his eyes widen in alarm, and he apologizes profusely. I assure him that it is quite normal and to be expected, although I'm sure he already knows that.

For the rest of that day I remain in my chambers, sore and unable to show my face.

The next time I am in Alexandra's presence, I am unable to look her in the eye. She smiles and greets me pleasantly as always, yet surely she must be aware of what recently transpired between myself and her husband, as it was with not only her permission but also her encouragement. To my surprise I feel a peculiar kinship with her. We have both shared our bodies with the same man, she out of the deepest of love and devotion, myself out of my duty to Mother Russia.

My regular matings with Nicholas continue as planned. After the first awkward and uncomfortable of such acts, things go much more smoothly. I can't honestly say that I come to enjoy them, yet as time passes, I do become accustomed to them.

Many times Nicholas talks to me at length afterwards, most frequently about Alexandra and his love for her. Theirs truly seems to have been a match made in heaven.

"I met her for the first time when I was sixteen and she was twelve," he tells me. "Never before had I seen a creature so lovely. I fell in love with her right away. Yet the fates seemed to be against us. My parents were unimpressed with her family's lowly status and her Lutheran background. They wanted me to marry a monarch. Princess after princess was suggested to me, and I turned every one of them down. I finally told my father that if I couldn't marry Alexandra, I'd join a monastery." He laughs. "At the time I didn't even realize that Alexandra was going through the same thing. Her grandmother, Queen Victoria, wanted her to marry her cousin, the Prince of Wales. Alix refused."

"When I was twenty-one and Alix was seventeen, I proposed to her the first time. In tears, she told me that she couldn't abandon her faith. I was devastated and nearly lost hope of ever winning her hand in marriage. For five more years I waited and hoped, and when I was twenty-six and she was twenty-two, I proposed to her again, and this time, she accepted. It was the happiest day of my life."

I see the light in his eyes when he talks about Alexandra, and it feels like a knife through my heart. I'm so consumed with guilt that I'm almost tempted to renege on my promise to do my part in the attempt to save Mother Russia.


	3. The Quest For An Heir

Nicholas' eyes shine with love when he speaks of his children. Clearly they and their mother are the center of his universe.

"Olga has always been such a sensitive and compassionate child," he tells me. "She can't bear to see even an animal in pain. Tatiana is the boldest and most confident of the children. It's too bad she can never be Tsar because she'd make an excellent one. Maria's very much the little lady, always dreaming of being a wife and mother. Anastasia." He laughs fondly when he says her name. "Always up to some mischief. You can't turn your back on her for a minute, but she keeps us all in stitches constantly. Alexei is such a brave, sweet little boy. In spite of his almost constant pain, he's always patient and cheerful."

I wonder whether he will love my child as he loves them, despite its being born of a lowly servant rather than the queenly Alexandra.

The contrast between the Tsar and his wife is remarkable. While he is devoted to physical fitness and spends hours on horseback, she is almost constantly resting in her chambers with a headache or similar malady. Despite her poor physical health, I can tell that she possesses an inner core of strength which perhaps her husband, physically robust as he may be, lacks. I know that she is absolutely and selflessly devoted to Nicholas and her children, to her adopted country and her adopted faith.

Perhaps the keenest object of her devotion is her sickly son. In desperation she has procured for him a faith healer, a Siberian peasant named Grigori Rasputin. It is said that he can heal young Alexei even when the doctors are helpless to do any more for him, and the Tsarina seems to be almost slavishly dependent upon him. I have never been within close physical range of him, but I have seen him from a distance. The look in his eyes sends chills down my spine. I shudder at the recollection.

In the meantime, my surreptitious rendezvous with Nicholas continue. I don't know which of us dreads them worse, him or me. On one such occasion he calls me 'Mathilde' as his seed fills my womb. Having never heard of him in connection with any other woman but Alexandra, I'm dying to know who Mathilde is or was but realize that I don't dare ask.

At one point I notice that Nicholas has a long, thin scar on the right side of his forehead and ask him about it. An assassination attempt in Otsu, Japan, in 1891, he tells me.

"But why would anyone want to kill you?" I ask, genuinely surprised.

Relations between Russia and Japan have long been strained, he tells me with a smile.

I ask the purpose of his trip to Japan. "An educational opportunity," he explains. "Training for dealing with foreign affairs. And...a break from ill advised situations at home."

I realize that he has inadvertently almost let slip words not meant for my ears. Something to do with Mathilde?

In my haste to return to my chambers after one such encounter, I accidentally bump into a girl walking in the opposite direction and, to my horror, realize that she is Olga, the oldest of the five royal children.

I recognize her immediately. She is only a few years younger than me. If the wheels of fate had turned differently, we possibly could have been friends, even.

Blushing, I apologize profusely.

"It's quite all right," she says with a pleasant smile. She has her father's blue eyes, as do all her siblings. Of the five she's the one who most strongly resembles Nicholas and, I suspect, is most like him in temperament and personality as well.

She, of course, has no idea of the true nature of my relationship with her father. My cheeks burn with shame. She notices my discomfort.

"Is something the matter, then?" The distinctly Scottish lilt to her voice belies her true heritage.

I assure her that everything is fine and practically fly to my chambers.

News of my awkward encounter with Olga apparently spreads, as I am soon assigned chambers far from, and in the opposite direction of, my previous ones.


	4. A New Life

A month after my agreement to the Dowager Empress' scheme, I am examined for any signs of pregnancy. The physician who examines me has been brought over from Hungary, and his coming and going are equally unnoticed by everyone except me. I have no idea what story he's been told about the necessity of my being examined for pregnancy every month.

He starts by conducting a general exam, checking my vitals and such. From there it proceeds to a series of questions.

"What was the date of your last monthly cycle?" "How has your appetite been?" "Have you been sleeping well?"

Next comes the most shameful and humiliating portion of the examination. He asks me to disrobe and lay back on a table with my feet in stirrups and examines my private parts. His touch is cold and mechanical, unlike that of Nicholas, which is, while not loving, is still gentle and caring. Thinking of the contrast between the two brings tears to my eyes, which the physician seems not to notice. Admonishing me to continue to eat healthily, he is then on his way.

Apparently, my first month of trying has not produced the hoped-for outcome. It occurs to me that I may, in fact, be unable to conceive. If that is in fact the case, how long will it be before it is discovered? And when it finally is, what will become of me? Will I simply be returned to my position as lady-in-waiting to Alexandra while another of my peers is chosen to take my place? Will I simply be cast out completely? Will that option even be feasible, given the secrets I have been privy to? Will I be exiled, or worse, even?

It hurts my head to ponder such notions. After leaving the physician's presence, I try desperately to go about my usual business in as normal a way as possible, with thoughts of my possible failure hanging over my head like the sword of Damocles.

My second monthly examination passes in a nearly identical manner. Once again, I have failed in my duty to Mother Russia. I am dying to ask the Hungarian physician how many months on average it takes for a pregnancy to occur but lack the courage to do so.

The third month, my period doesn't come when I expect it to. And I know. Right away, before the physician even examines me, I know. I'm not sure whether to feel elated or terrified, then realize that I feel overwhelming relief more than any other emotion.

The physician immediately notices that there is something different about me. "I missed my period," I tell him before he even has the chance to greet me.

"Oh?" He proceeds with the examination as usual.

"Tenderness in your breasts?"

"They feel quite heavy."

"Nausea or vomiting?"

"Not really, but my appetite's really gone down."

"Unusual fatigue?"

I yawn. He chuckles knowingly.

He seems to take longer than usual in performing the portion of the examination I dread the most.

"Your womb is enlarged," he finally tells me. A short time later, he tells me to get dressed and dismisses me.

Two days later, I am summoned by the Dowager Empress for the first time since agreeing to her plan.

"Your interactions with my son are to cease immediately," she tells me. "You are also to begin a strict diet and exercise regimen which I will oversee."

"Am I truly pregnant, then?" I ask her.

She smiles. "Our endeavor seems to have been successful so far. Of utmost importance now is the strict monitoring of your health and the absolute avoidance of any stress factors."

I am filled with wonder. Inside my body is a new life, one separate and distinct from my own. One which is a part of me and yet is also a part of Tsar Nicholas II, the Emperor of all the Russias. One which could mean the salvation of my country.


	5. Waiting

Remembering the Biblical story of Sarah's harsh treatment of Hagar, I fear Alexandra's reaction to my pregnancy. Will she be jealous and treat me cruelly? I soon learn that my fears are for naught, as the Tsarina treats me much as she always has. If anything, she seems to go out of her way to treat me with extra kindness and consideration now. The concern she has for her country has enabled her to put its welfare ahead of her own desires. Also, the love she bears for her husband is so intense, so pure, that nothing in the world, not even the evidence of his seed having been planted within another woman, threatens it in the least.

The leering face of Grigori Rasputin comes unbidden to my mind. He possesses magical powers, I have heard; the power to see into the future, to gaze into a person's eyes and know his or her true intentions. I have heard various rumors of his lifestyle as well, stories of wanton alcohol consumption, of wild orgies, even of sexual assault. I wonder to what extent they are true. Alexandra steadfastly refuses to believe any of them. Has her love for her only son and her desperation to see him healed blinded her to the true nature of this man? I sometimes wonder whether this might be the case, although I don't dare voice my concerns out loud, as I am merely a lowly servant.

Will the birth of my child make a difference in any of this? Will the existence of a healthy male heir lessen the country's dependence upon this self-proclaimed holy man? Is it a mortal sin for me to even consider this possibility?

At the beginning of my fourth month, Alexandra and I simultaneously go into confinement, separately, of course. Until my child is born, neither of us will be seen by anyone except a select few absolutely necessary medical attendants and other servants, all of whom have been handsomely bribed, of course.

Olga, Tatiana, Maria, Anastasia, and Alexei are sent to the Crimea to stay with relatives for what they are told is an 'educational opportunity.' I remember my one close encounter with Olga, the wisdom I discerned in her pale blue eyes. Will she and her siblings prove to be that easy to fool? Upon their return to the palace, will they suspect that their new sibling is the true son of anyone but their mother?

Although I am kept in the most luxurious of surroundings, doted upon and catered to in the extreme, I feel a deep loneliness that I find impossible to shake. For the first time in my life, I literally have no one to talk to, no one to share my many anxieties and reservations with. The only person who ever really speaks to me other than to ask if I need anything is the Hungarian doctor who still visits me monthly to check on my progress, and the only information he will share with me is that everything seems to be developing normally.

Starved for conversation, I long to ask him about his life in Hungary, his family, anything at all. His manner is far to brusque too even remotely suggest that as an option.

The first tiny flutters of the life within me fill me with wonder. Here is a new being, an entirely new entity, separate from me, within my body but not a part of it. The emotional attachment I feel to my child is incredibly intense. It is like nothing I have ever experienced before. My desire to hold my child tightly in my arms and protect him from all harm is very strong. I wonder if this is the way all expectant mothers feel.

To my surprise, I find myself thinking increasingly of Alexandra, wondering what her five pregnancies were like. Did she experience symptoms similar to mine? Did she feel the same emotional bond to each of her unborn babes that I feel to mine? Of course there are many differences between her experiences and my own. Her children were conceived in love, while mine was conceived solely for the purpose of ensuring the continuation of the Romanov dynasty in the unfortunate but likely event of poor Alexei's untimely demise. Nicholas was with her, supporting and comforting her, for the duration of each of her pregnancies, while I haven't even seen him since my pregnancy was confirmed. And that is as it should be. She is his wife, his consort. I am a simple servant girl who has the good fortune of possessing a healthy bloodline. Still, this knowledge does nothing to salve the deep aching loneliness I feel inside.

As my pregnancy nears its end, I begin to experience backaches, some that are quite severe. I also find it increasingly difficult to sleep at night. My greatly enlarged abdomen prevents my lying on my stomach, and when I lie on my back, the movements of the child inside me increase to the point that they render me unable to sleep.

One evening near the end of my ninth month, I begin to experience intense pains in my back that radiate around to the front and come and go at semi-regular intervals. I send for the physician, who has been discretely hidden near my chambers for the past several weeks. It is time.


	6. For The Sake Of My Country

I labor for what feels like forever. The pain is so severe at times that I fear I might die. I pray that, if that should happen, the doctor is able to save my son, so that my sacrifice for my beloved country will not have been in vain.

At last the time comes to push. I push for what seems like many unfruitful hours, until at last I feel pressure followed by release. All is quiet for just a moment, and then I hear the wail of a healthy newborn.

"Is he all right?" I ask. "Let me see him!"

Nobody says a word. The tension in the room is palpable, and with a sickening feeling in my gut, I realize what has happened. I have failed to rescue my country from the brink of despair, for I have delivered a fifth Grand Duchess.

I watch with fascination as the newborn is carefully cleaned and swaddled. She is tinier than I ever could have imagined, and her skin is blotchy and red. Thin wisps of light brown hair cover her head. She is the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes upon.

"Would you like to hold her?" someone asks me. Silently I nod, and the infant is placed in my arms. She seems to know me, for her cry diminishes to a whimper almost immediately.

I am allowed to hold her for a few hours. I don't know how I'll ever be able to let her go. In my arms is this perfect little person in miniature. I examine her ten little fingers with their miniscule nails, her ten tiny toes, all so perfectly proportioned. I marvel that something so lovely, so exquisite, could have come from my body.

The time I am allowed to spend with her seems entirely too short. At last she is whisked away and I am left alone in my chambers to recover.

From the palace it is announced that the Tsarina has delivered a fifth daughter. She shall be named Alisa, in honor of Alexandra's English mother who died of diphtheria at the age of thirty-five. It is a ploy designed to give further credence to this elaborate ruse.

As for myself, I stay sequestered within my chambers with my swollen, aching breasts bound. How I wish that I could be Alisa's wet nurse! But that would be entirely too risky. Someone else will be chosen instead.

Several weeks after Alisa's birth, the Dowager Empress summons me again. Imagining her sharp eyes burning daggers into me, I quake at the thought of seeing her face-to-face once more.

My eyes are unable to meet hers. "I...I'm sorry," I stammer meekly.

"There is no need to be sorry," she quickly assures me. "We both knew from the beginning that there was a chance that this might happen, did we not? We shall simply have to try again. If you're still willing, that is."

"Of course," I reply. "I'll do anything for the sake of my country."

"Very well, then." She smiles. "As soon as the physician deems it feasible, we shall resume our efforts."

I return to my position as Alexandra's lady-in-waiting. I have not seen her in more than six months, of course, and am unsure what her reaction to my return will be.

She sees me and greets me warmly. "Lizonka! It's so nice to see you again. I hope that you're doing well."

I curtsy. "I am fine, Your Grace. Thank you."

To my utter amazement, she takes both my hands into hers and looks into my eyes. "I know just how you feel," she tells me.


	7. The Love Of A Mother

My feet seem to have a mind of their own, and they lead me in the direction of the nursery in which I know my Alisa sleeps. No, not _my _Alisa, I correct myself. I must learn not to allow myself to think like that, but oh, how hard it will be!

Cautiously I enter, and there she is, sleeping peacefully, both her little fists balled up and resting one to each side of her face. Without thinking, I reach for her.

I sense someone watching me and turn to see Tatiana, the second oldest Grand Duchess. In her eyes I see the same cunning I saw in Olga's all those months ago.

"You're one of my mother's ladies-in-waiting, aren't you?" she asks. Her eyes narrow suspiciously. "What are you going to do with my baby sister?"

"N-nothing," I stammer. Quickly I turn and leave, feeling her eyes boring into my back. It will surely be the end of me if words gets out that I am suspected of having tried to harm one of the Romanov children.

I remain in my chambers for the rest of that day. Late in the evening I receive a visitor and find that, to my surprise, it is Alexandra holding baby Alisa.

"I thought you might want to visit with her for a little while," she tells me.

Alisa is awake this time, and her blue eyes look at me curiously. Is that a glimmer of recognition I see in them?

"Well, hello there!" I say as I gather her into my arms. She waves her arms and smiles, and my heart just melts. I lower my lips to her downy head and gently kiss it. My nose fills with her sweet aroma. "I love you," I whisper to her.

Within moments Alexandra tells me that she must be returned to the nursery.

"Thank you so much for letting me see her," I tell her as I feel tears come to my eyes. She smiles warmly at me, and in her eyes I see deep sympathy. Like myself, she has experienced the love of a mother for a child and understands how profound it is.

The next time I see him, I am not able to look the Tsar in the eye. Guilt eats away at me. I know how he feels about what we must do, how he sees it as a betrayal of his darling Alexandra.

"I'm so sorry," I mutter, staring at my feet. "I know how badly you wanted a son."

"It wasn't your fault." He places a comforting hand on my shoulder. "It was the will of God."

"Is Alisa all right?"

He smiles. "She's a beautiful baby. You did well."

As always before, he is gentle, and as he lies atop me, thrusting, I try to think about anything else but what I'm doing at the present. As he grunts his release, I wonder whether this second attempt will be successful so that these unnatural couplings can finally cease.

Having already been through it once before, I am aware of the symptoms of pregnancy much sooner this time. As before, I am sequestered in my chambers, carefully sheltered from all stress. Always I am thinking of Alisa. She is the first thought I have in the morning, the last one I have at night. How big is she now? How many teeth does she have? Is she walking yet, talking, saying words? Unfortunately, there is no one I can ask.

As my new child moves within me, I am taken back to the days when it was Alisa who moved within me. I miss her so badly that it is almost a physical ache. I think of how close-knit the other Romanov children have always seemed. Do they love Alisa as they do one another now? Surely they do; why should they not?

As my pregnancy nears term, the physical discomforts, the backaches and heartburn, return. I pray for this to all be over soon and for Mother Russia to finally have the healthy heir she so desperately needs.


	8. An Evil Presence

God above and Blessed Mother of Jesus be praised, I have given birth to a Grand Duke! All of the Winter Palace, indeed, all of Russia, rejoices as a 300-round salute is fired. My son is beautiful, looking much as his older sister did at birth. He has blue Romanov eyes and a tuft of light brown hair. He is perfect in every way.

In all of the palace, only one face is not smiling. The dark visage of Grigori Rasputin bears a scowl. I feel a sharp stab of fear deep in my gut. Does he wish my new child harm?

The boy is named Nicolai, for his father. He is to be called Kolya.

A few days after the birth, the Tsar and Tsarina visit me in my chambers, their eyes shining with happiness.

"We owe you an immense debt of gratitude," Nicholas tells me. "Our entire country does. Anything in my Kingdom that you desire is yours. Just say the word. The grandest of homes, any number of servants, introduction to any Grand Duke or courtier you wish to meet."

"Thank you very much, Your Grace, but my needs are modest," I tell him. "The only thing I desire is that I may remain at court so that I may watch Alisa and Kolya grow up, from a distance, of course."

"Certainly." Nicholas smiles. I feel an unexpected pang. However distasteful they may have been in some ways, a part of me will miss the obligatory couplings with him. Although there was certainly never any genuine love expressed, there was gentleness and tenderness, and it is that that I will miss.

Alexandra lingers for a moment after her husband has departed.

"I envy you," she tells me.

_"You _envy _me?" _I am shocked speechless.

"You have done what I have failed to do. You have given my husband a healthy son."

Will Alexandra love my Kolya as she loves her own Alexei? Certainly not; how could she? Yet my hope is that Kolya's birth will bring a measure of stability to the increasingly fragile Imperial Russian Kingdom, one which it desperately needs.

Kolya grows to be pudgy, strong and healthy. He bears a strong resemblance to not only Alisa but also to the older Romanov children. Most importantly, he does not suffer from hemophilia, as does poor Alexei.

A particularly disturbing incident occurs in Kolya's third year. I am sitting in the garden pretending to read while surreptitiously watching Alisa and Kolya at play. A flower bed is surrounded by a wide ledge of moderate height. The flower bed is bordered by a sidewalk on one side. Alisa walks gracefully along the ledge, and Kolya follows her on his short, stubby legs.

I suddenly sense an evil presence and notice that Grigori Rasputin is standing unobtrusively to one side, also watching the children at play. Little Kolya has reached the side of the ledge bordering the sidewalk. As Rasputin stares hard at him, his step suddenly becomes markedly unsteady. If Kolya should topple from the ledge and hit his head on the sidewalk, his skull would surely be crushed.

With a gasp of horror I reach Kolya just as he begins to fall, catching him a split second before he would have hit the sidewalk. Dizzy with relief, I set him safely onto the ground.

As I do so, I feel Rasputin's malevolent eyes boring holes into me and shudder involuntarily.


	9. Ominous Developments

Summer 1914

My beloved country is at war with Germany and its allies. The Tsar has gone to the Eastern Front, leaving the Tsarina to run the country in his place. More and more I see her in the company of Grigori Rasputin. I have heard rumors, shocking ones. It is said that Alexandra allows Rasputin to make important decisions in the ruling of the Empire, that she has granted him the power to remove his enemies from office and replace them with his supporters. It is also whispered that he visits the Grand Duchesses in their bedchambers at night when they are wearing their nightgowns, that he and Alexandra are lovers, even. I do not know what to make of these stories. Possibly some, or even most, of them are true; if so, it is truly frightening to consider the influence this coarse, revolting man now wields.

Nevertheless, I am elated. The reason is simply this: Alexandra and her two eldest daughters have gone to work as nurses in the Catherine Palace, which has been converted into a hospital for wounded soldiers and, joy of joys, I have been allowed to serve as governess for Alisa and Kolya while they are away.

Alisa at four is a beautiful, precocious little girl. Kolya is adorable with his big round blue eyes and chubby cheeks, which bear the glow of health missing form those of poor Alexei. I have to resist the urge to pull the children into my arms and embrace them fiercely. To them I am simply another of their mother's servants, and it will have to stay that way.

"My name is Lizonka," I tell them. "I will be taking care of you while your Mama is in the hospital seeing after the wounded soldiers."

"Papa is away fighting the war," Alisa says importantly. "He's going to defeat the Germans so that our country will be free again."

"You're a very bright little girl," I tell her with a smile. She smiles back. I am over the moon.

December 1916

Two years of war have taken their toll. The nation has been dealt heavy casualties, much loss of human life and suffering. Alisa and Kolya, now two years older, are beginning to feel the effects of the ordeal. Alisa asks me why it's taking so long to defeat the Germans, and all I can think to tell her is that they are very strong and have a large army and will be difficult to drive back.

The body of Grigori Rasputin has been pulled from the Neva River, partially wrapped in a piece of carpet, beaten and bloody. He'd been missing for several days, and Alexandra had become hysterical. After news of his death reached the Palace, she was devastated.

His death is immediately investigated, of course, and the details soon come to light. Felix Yusupov, Dimitri Pavlovich, and Vladimir Purishkevich lured Rasputin to the Moika Palace, where they fed him poisoned cakes and wine. When the poison seemed not to be working, Felix became impatient and shot his victim four times. When Rasputin still moved and tried to get away, the three men rolled him up in a carpet and threw him into the river.

Heartbroken, Alexandra has Rasputin buried on the grounds of the Alexandra Palace. His malevolent presence is finally gone, yet I am unable to feel relieved. Instead I have a deep premonition that our troubles are far from over, that in fact, they have just begun.

February 1917

Not an ounce of optimism rang in this New Year. My forebodings have been proven correct, as the country is now in a revolution. Bread riots, demonstrations, and violence on the streets are daily occurrences. Nicholas seems completely incapable of dealing with the unrest. I am very afraid.


	10. Isaak

March 1917

This is the darkest day in the history of my beloved country. Nicholas has been forced to abdicate the throne, and for the first time in over three hundred years, there is no Tsar, no kingdom for Alexei, or Kolya in the event of his half brother's premature death, to inherit.

I am, of course, shocked and deeply saddened by the news. Alisa in inconsolable. "Papa isn't the Tsar anymore!" she sobs. "Why, Lizonka? Why isn't my Papa the Tsar anymore?"

I have no words with which to comfort her. She is too young to understand, and I am not sure if I truly understand myself.

The older Romanov children act as if there has been a death in the family. Alexandra burns her diaries and letters. The gates of the palace do not open for Nicholas when he arrives home. He has to specifically ask the guards to open them.

I feel deep pity for him. He is a tired, worn, defeated man. All the efforts of the Dowager Empress and others, including myself, have come to naught. The Romanov dynasty has gone the way of the Bourbon dynasty of eighteenth century France, an ancient relic existing only in museums and literature.

August 1917

Nicholas, Alexandra, and their children have been told that they must leave the Winter Palace immediately. They are being sent to Tobolsk in Siberia. I am told that I and the other servants are to be returned home to our families.

My heart sinks at the news. I cannot bear the thought of being left behind in Petrograd while Alisa and Kolya, my babies, are shipped to Siberia, where I will almost certainly never see them again, nor even hear news of them from time to time.

"Please, sir," I beg one of the guards. "I have served as governess to the two youngest Romanov children since the beginning of the war, and they have become close to me and would be devastated if we had to part."

The guard turns hate-filled eyes toward me. "They aren't royal children anymore," he snaps. "They don't need a governess."

Distraught, I turn and begin to walk away when I hear the voice of a second guard.

"What would be the harm in allowing one extra servant to accompany the family to Tobolsk?" he asks. "You saw the look on her face. You know how she feels about those children."

"Oh, all right, then," the first guard grunts dismissively.

Grateful, I glance at my benefactor and see that he is young, several years older than myself at the most. He is tall and slender, with an olive complexion, dark curly brown hair, brown eyes, faint acne scars, and a slightly too-big nose.

"Thank you, sir," I tell him.

"You don't have to call me sir." He smiles disarmingly.

"I am Yelizaveta Ivanovna." Suddenly I feel very shy.

"Isaak Abramovich," he tells me. He takes my arm and helps me onto the train, then goes to join the other guards.

I stare out the window as the city of Petrograd flies past, wondering whether I will ever see it again.

I become better acquainted with Anna Demidova, the maid to whom Alexandra is closest. She asks me how my mother became such good friends with the Dowager Empress.

"She lived in Denmark for a few years before coming to the Russian court, so she speaks Danish fluently," I explain.

Anna nods in understanding. She gazes longingly at the older children's tutor, Sidney Gibbes, who seems totally oblivious to her presence.

At last we arrive in Tobolsk. The house in which we are to stay is very nice, although nothing like the Winter Palace, of course. It is white with two floors. It is the governor's mansion, I am told.

On our way to our destination, we are interrupted by a funeral procession. I cross myself, as do most of my traveling companions. I notice that Isaak does not and look at him quizzically.

"I'm Jewish," he explains.

I have heard of the Jews, of course, and even known a few personally. They live in communities of their own, called shtetls, apart from the general population. They have synagogues instead of churches, rabbis instead of priests. Neither Jesus nor his Blessed Mother are part of their belief system, while they are both such an integral component of my own that I find it very difficult to imagine otherwise.

"I no longer believe in the Jewish God, however," Isaak continues. "Comrade Lenin says that religion is the opiate of the masses, and I believe him."

_Comrade Lenin. _Those two words strike fear deep within my soul.


	11. Secret No More

Although the house in Tobolsk is very nice, after living in the Alexandra Palace for so many years, I can't help but feel a bit confined, but I don't complain. I am still able to see Alisa and Kolya on a daily basis, and as Alexandra is still quite preoccupied with Alexei's health and the older girls are blossoming into young womanhood and developing interests of their own, I find that I am able to spend large amounts of quality time with them.

Nicholas gardens, chops wood, and rides his bike. Alexandra and her daughters sew or read. Isaak and I spend a good deal of time talking together and get to know one another well. He asks me about my family.

"I'm afraid there isn't much to tell," I say to him. "My father, Ivan Vladimirovich Petrov, was a simple but honest man. He was a humble groundskeeper at the palace. My mother was a distant relative of Duke Friedrich of Denmark. All four of my older brothers are away at war."

I ask about his family. "They were all massacred in a pogrom twelve years ago," he tells me, anger flashing in his eyes. "I alone escaped by hiding underneath the floorboards. Above me I could hear the harsh voices of the Cossacks, could hear my parents begging for their lives. I heard my mother cry out and knew that they had just killed my father. Then I heard a lot of banging around and grunting and my mother sobbing for them to please stop. I knew what they were doing to her and it sickened me. They finally left, having taken our every possession with them and leaving my parents' bleeding bodies lying on the floor."

"Oh, Isaak, I'm so sorry," I tell him.

"He could have done something to stop it." He glares fiercely in the direction of the room in which Nicholas and Alexandra sleep. "But he didn't. He and his officials just looked the other way while my people were being slaughtered. And do you know why? It's because we are always the ones who are blamed for everything. A child goes missing or is murdered, and they say we did it and used the blood to make matzo for Passover. They say that, and he believes it!" His eyes are blazing with hatred now.

"But you don't really know him," I protest. "I do. He's a kind, gentle man who's devoted to his family and to God."

"As I told you before, I no longer believe in God," Isaak tells me coldly.

The spring of the following year brings shattering news. The former royal family has been put on soldiers' rations and will be allowed to retain only a bare minimum of servants, and this time Isaak is unable to persuade his superiors to allow me to stay.

Tearfully I hug and kiss Alisa and Kolya good-bye. They both cling to me tearfully, as reluctant to see me part as I am to do so. I cover them both generously with kisses and run my fingers slowly over their faces, memorizing every little detail in case I never see them again.

Isaak visits regularly and keeps me posted on the latest news. Shortly after my departure, the family is transferred from Tobolsk to Yekaterinburg. They are ensconced within a former merchant's house called the Ipatiev House.

My heart aches for Alisa and Kolya. For all these years I have kept the secret of their true parentage, allowing the entire world to believe that they are the legitimate daughter and son of Nicholas and Alexandra, but I simply cannot keep quiet anymore. I must tell someone.

And so I tell Isaak.


	12. Uncertain Future

Isaak nods in understanding. I see that he is not surprised at all.

For the very first time in my children's lives, I have no way of knowing how they are faring, whether or not their needs are being met, whether or not they are being kindly treated. It is torture such as I have never known.

Spring gradually becomes summer. The day of July 16, 1918 passes as an entirely ordinary and uneventful day until the late evening, which brings a tremendous surprise.

In the distance, I see several guards approaching with a teenage boy and two younger children, a boy and a girl. As they come nearer, I see that one of the guards is Isaak, the teenage boy is Leonid Sednev, the kitchen boy retained by the Romanovs, and the two younger children, praise be to God, are my Alisa and Kolya!

They are both a bit taller and a good deal thinner than when I last saw them, but other than that, they appear to be perfectly fine.

"Lizonka!" they shout, running to meet me. I spend several minutes doing nothing but showering them with kisses and telling them how much I love them. Then I turn to Isaak with tears of gratitude in my eyes.

"I don't know how to thank you," I tell him.

"The other guards did not want me to do it," he replies. "I told them that the children are illegitimate, that they would therefore have no claim to the Russian throne should the Whites defeat us and attempt to restore the monarchy. It was only then that they allowed me to bring them along with Leonid."

I feel an ice cold sensation at the base of my spine. "What is to happen to the others, then?" I ask Isaak.

He does not answer me. "I must go," he says shortly. I watch his retreating back as he and the other guards leave and cross myself. Then I return my attention to Alisa and Kolya.

"How have you been treated?" I ask them.

"Oh, Lizonka, they treated us horribly!" Alisa exclaims. "They painted the windows so that we couldn't see outside. Anastasia opened one of the windows and they shot at her. We were all crowded together on the second floor, and they gave us nothing to eat but soup and black bread with _no _butter. There were guards all over the place, and they were all horrible and nasty, except for Isaak. He gave us little bits of food when no one else was watching and made sure that none of the other guards hit us."

"When will we see Mama and Papa and the others again?" Kolya asks me.

"Soon," I lie.

Isaak returns unexpectedly in the wee hours of the following morning. He is shaking and, to my utter shock, I see that there are tears in his eyes.

"Yurovsky let me go," he tells me. "I could not do what he asked me to do. The Tsar, yes. The girls, no."

"What are you talking about?" I ask him. Deep inside, I already know, of course.

"I look at Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia, and...I see you, Lizonka. I see you." He shakes his head. "No, I could not do it."

We hear the news a few days later. Kind Nicholas with the sad blue eyes is dead. His family is safe, smuggled into hiding somewhere in Poland. At least, that is what the Bolsheviks want us to believe. I look at Isaak and know that it is not true, but I don't dare say anything.

And so a new era begins for me, for Isaak, for my children, for my torn, bleeding country. Alisa and Kolya will be given new names, of course; otherwise, they would be targets for assassins. Alisa will now be Maria; it is Comrade Lenin's mother's name. Kolya is to be Vladimir, or Vova for short. They will have Isaak's surname, which is Borovsky.

And so we shall be a family, drifting toward an uncertain future, leaving ghosts of the past behind.

_A/N: Many thanks to everyone who read and reviewed this story. Please don't be mad at me for killing off the canon characters and letting the OC's live. I've written several other stories in which some or all of the real Romanovs do survive, but I wanted this one to be as true to actual history as possible, with the exception, of course, of the surrogate mother and her children._


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